


Blood in the Snow

by Elysia45



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Other, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysia45/pseuds/Elysia45
Summary: A deeply buried memory of Fane's past comes to the surface when the Inquisition enters Emprise du Lion. A memory of blood and snow, and a foolish hope.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Promises in Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a separate piece from Fane's original story. I'm experimenting with ways to analyze his character and relationships through smaller pieces. This work will probably only be a few chapters. Enjoy!

Emprise du Lion. A veritable region in Orlais that was surrounded by a large lake as well housing one of Orlais’s most prosperous quarries that brought the small village of Sahrnia its meager wealth; enough to sustain its inhabitants at the very least. However, due to the civil war the sleepy town was nothing more than rumble in the snow, and even worse was the reported presence of Red Templars deeper in the area. Those two things combined would have been enough for Inquisitor Fane Lavellan, but it wasn’t the ruined homes and starving villagers that set him in a bad mood. It wasn’t the hum of red lyrium that lined the passes further up the hill. It wasn’t even the suspicion that the leader of the village had _willingly_ sold her people to the Red Templars. It was the _snow_. The pure white frozen water that now coated the ground and vegetation.

Sahrnia had faced a drastic drop in temperature before he and the small force accompanying him had reached the region which caused the entire surrounding lake to become frozen, and blanketing the ground in a thick layer of heavy snow. Granted, Fane had seen the snow on the trek here, but the accumulation that had amounted in Sahrnia was far beyond that light dusting. The minute Fane had arrived at the forward camp, his entire mood had shifted from mild irritation to downright intolerable. The troops that had accompanied him had noticed almost immediately, and had given their leader a wide berth. Fane’s companions, who had also noticed the shift, didn’t respond quite the same since they were each used to their Inquisitor’s special brand of rage. Fane wasn’t entirely sure which irritated him more, to be honest. Obvious fear or suppressed fear? It was all relative in the end, he supposed.

Fane had been trying to listen to Scout Harding’s report about the area, but his mind was elsewhere. Also, he could feel the pounding of a familiar headache growing behind his eyes. 

“We’ve spotted several groups of Red Templars roaming the upper hills. They seem to have taken up camp somewhere deeper in the mountain. We noticed most are guarding direct passages to the Sahrnia quarry, so-?”, Harding stopped her report mid sentence as she looked to him with a furrowed brow, “Um, Inquisitor? Are you feeling alright?”, she asked carefully.

Fane growled quietly and pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation at the question, “I’m fine. Continue your report, Harding.”. 

He hated when people did this. Most of his inner circle already knew he would simply deflect before telling them anything. But, they never ceased to try anyways. Fane should be content that people actually cared for his well being for once, but a part of him still felt he was simply being used. He may have been granted the title of Inquisitor, a title he had adamantly tried to refuse, but he still felt as if it was all a game. A cruel lie of actually _belonging_ somewhere. Fane could still feel Harding’s concerned gaze as he stared out to the frozen lake. He could also feel the concerned gazes of his personal three companions, Solas, Varric, and Cole. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to suppress his anger before throwing his hand down from his nose. This fucking place was too damn bright!

“ _Continue_.”, he hissed out with a tired glare. 

Harding blinked at him and nodded quickly before continuing to list points of information to him. Fane’s eyes travelled along the landscape as he tried to listen to the dwarven scout’s report, his face twisting with an uncomfortable scowl. There was so much _snow_ . It was everywhere, and it made him sick! He could even feel the cold emanating off of it from where he stood, and the sensation was working through his thick coat with ease. His whole body was _aching_ . His head was _aching_ . Everything was _aching_!

“I think that’s everything, Inquisitor. Be careful out there! Oh, and try not to get buried in the snow.”, Harding joked before bowing her head and trudging her stocky legs through the snow to head back into the camp.

Fane stood stock still for several moments as he watched Harding leave. He felt a frigid gust of air nip at his pointed ears which made him snarl. He wanted out of this cursed place. The whole area just felt _wrong_! 

“Cold, bright, _too_ bright. Footsteps crunch as we walk. Hope, fear, but also _happiness_ . Maybe he changed. Maybe he _cares._ ”, he heard Cole murmur quickly behind him.

Fane snarled more loudly and stood up straight. No. Those memories would not be broadcasted for everyone to hear! He understood that Cole couldn’t help it, but those were private. They would _remain_ private! 

“He smiles as we walk. Soft, calm, _different_ . Too bright, too different. The pain courses through my body as we walk. Wounds singing in pain from the sharpness. He takes my hand in his. Sudden red, pain, agonizing pain. It was supposed to be different. He should have _changed. Why, why?!_ Twisting, carving-..? It’s gone. Where did it go?”, Cole asked softly. 

Fane felt his throat constrict in equal parts fear and anger. He had managed to close his thoughts off to Cole, but the spirit had managed to say enough to rattle him. Dammit! Was he truly this transparent?! That was a memory that should have never seen the light of day again! It had been the foolish hope of a naive boy! Nothing more! 

“We need to move.”, he gritted out between clenched teeth, his hands shaking as he didn’t even turn around to address his companions.

Fane stormed ahead of them quickly, trying to calm his panicked breathing before anyone saw. He had a feeling it was too late, however. His pointed ears twitched as he heard footsteps catching up to him, and the distinct voices of his companions. 

“Hey, kid. Whose thoughts were those?”, he heard Varric ask the soft spoken spirit carefully.

Fane’s breath caught in his throat. No. No, no, no.

“ _Shut up, shut up..!”,_ he thought to himself in fear.

As Fane braced himself for the spirit’s obvious reply, he heard Solas clear his throat harshly.

“I suggest we worry about that later. We need to remain alert for signs of trouble, especially in this type of terrain.”, he heard the elven mage state plainly.

Fane felt all the tension and fear dissipate from his body at Solas’s attempt at misdirection. He hoped it would be enough to steer Varric and Cole away from that memory. At least, until he could sort through his own thoughts on it. Thankfully, Fane saw something in the distance that could truly drive the topic away. He could see a small group of Red Templars just outside Sahrnia’s dilapidated entrance way. For once, Fane was grateful for the prospect of a battle.

“Why don’t we all _shut up_ and get ready to fight!? If you all have time to yap on and on about pointless shit, you have time get your shit together and focus! Otherwise, you’ll die, and I’m not dragging your sorry asses back to Skyhold!”, he snarled out as he whipped around to glare at his companions, his hand already pulling out his sword. 

He knew he was being more aggressive with his companions than usual, but Cole’s words had unnerved and angered him. Fane had not appreciated having his thoughts sifted through like Josephine did with her paperwork. He saw that his words had surprised each of them, even Solas, who he knew had _tried_ to help, but he honestly couldn’t care about their feelings right now. He just wanted them to stop. He wanted them to _go away_ . No, he wanted his _memories_ to go away. And battle would do the trick, at least for the moment. Fane turned on his heel as he readied his sword, his eyes flashing with unrestrained fury as a Red Templar finally spotted them.

“It’s the Inquisitor!!”, the corrupted soldier yelled angrily.

Fane heard his companions finally unsheath their weapons, and he tried to block out the feeling of Solas’s magic as it bristled around them. He took a deep, slow breath as he felt his mind finally begin to detach, the familiar caress of a whisper invaded his ear. He couldn’t make out the words this time, but he knew what they would have been. 

Endure. Fight, and endure. 

Fane felt all emotion drain from him then, the only thing displaying his fury was his emerald eyes, but his face was a blank slate of stone. 

“I will endure.”, he muttered flatly before charging headlong into the now grouping templars.

He barely registered a guttural scream, or the splattering of hot blood on his face as he mercilessly drove his sword into one of the templar’s necks. Fane watched with a blank stare as the corrupted life left the excuse for a man’s blackened eyes. He only yanked his sword free once the soldier had gone completely limp, and he let the body fall with a wet thump as blood pooled around them both. He watched blankly as the snow became a deep crimson color. 

“Pure white cold. Hot crimson flows. Agony you shall know. Blood in the snow as death guides you home. Promises of absolution as heavenly white is defiled with sinful red.”, he chanted to himself flatly, as he stepped over the dead man’s body, readying himself to face the next.

Each Red Templar that fell to blade, arrow, or magic was met with the same chant as he would step over their corpses.

Pure white cold. _Snow_. A slash of a sword to an abdomen.

Hot crimson flows. _Blood._ The smell of flesh as magical fire seared it to cinder.

Agony you shall know. _Promises._ The sound of tearing as daggers rip through muscle.

Blood in the snow as pain guides you home. _Absolution_. A solid thunking sound of an arrow as it lodges itself into bone.

Promises of absolution as heavenly white is defiled with sinful red. _Finality._ Stillness as the chaos of battle and death end. 

It was the words his father had said to him as blood defiled snow. Words that would forever be ingrained in Fane’s memory, no matter how hard he would try to bury them. 

Eternity. Absolution. Broken promises.

They were all the same when each path led to the same destination: Death. 


	2. Prisms of Color as Reflected on Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this was fun to write! I really like trying to express feelings through constant character questioning. The whys, whats, hows, or whos. It just helps me visualize how a character may be feeling in that moment. So, I hope that can come across in the same way to other people! Anyways, one more chapter to gooo! This is technically the 'end' chapter for this work, but the third chapter is mainly just a smidge of lovely fluff because while I do like to hurt my boy, I also like to see him happy!

In hindsight, perhaps Fane should have shown more restraint when the small group had engaged the group of Red Templars because the sight before him was..horrific, to say the least. The snow surrounding them was soaked with familiar crimson blood as the lifeless bodies of the Red Templars lay broken, burned, and sliced before them. Fane stared at each body for what felt like eons. The features of several faces twisted with corruption were frozen in perpetual terror and agony as their guts lay tangled in a heap beside their bodies, and the necks slit down to the bone. Fane recognized the patterns of the wounds on each of those bodies. They were from _his_ sword. He furrowed his snowy brows in mild confusion as he continued to stare at the bodies, his detached mind slowly starting to reconnect to reality. 

“ _What..? What did I do..? This isn’t right..”,_ he thought to himself, unable to recollect what happened.

Fane’s grip on his sword tightened as he searched his memory. He remembered shouting at his companions as he spotted these same, but now dead, Red Templars. He remembered his mind slowly detaching as it usually did when he threw himself into battle. He remembered the smell of Solas’s magic and the tang of metal. What he couldn’t remember was the battle itself. Obviously, it had ended well for them, but Fane couldn’t shake the feeling that something was..different. The dead bodies before him proved that. While his mind did tend to empty before battle, it was more like he detached his _emotions_ , not his coherency. He also didn’t kill like.. _this._ The bodies before him were mutilated to the point where you could hardly tell what was muscle and what was bone. Open gashes that once flowed with blood were now dry as the hearts of the men had finally stopped pumping out blood as the last of the life ebbed from their broken bodies. Pieces of flesh were barely hanging to sinew as they seemingly were forced backwards like a flap, revealing bruised, corrupted muscle and tendon. No, he didn’t kill like this. He couldn’t have! No matter his fury or his detachment, he would always try to give enemies a quick death! Painless! Barely perceptible! This..this was all _wrong_! 

“Pure white cold. Hot crimson flows. Agony you shall know. Blood in the snow as death guides you home. Promises of absolution as heavenly white is defiled with sinful red. His words. His broken promise. Why..? Why was it broken..?”, Cole’s soft voice reached his dulled hearing, instantly snapping his mind back into place.

Fane slowly turned his head, catching glimpses of dried blood caked to his snowy hair and pale cheeks. Those words..! Those words were..! His emerald eyes met Varric’s bewildered expression at the scene around them, Cole’s puzzled eyes as he tried to work out the cryptic words that had sounded from Fane’s mind, and Solas’s calm, but knowing stormy gaze towards the puzzle Cole was still working out. The sharp clanging of metal as it hit the icy ground barely registered to Fane as he let his sword fall from his grasp. He stood frozen in place as he stared at the spirit in mild terror from the words that had spilled forth, his mind still trying to wrap around what had happened during the battle, and how Cole had known those very specific words. 

“W..Where did you hear that..?”, he asked, his voice cracking on the words slightly.

Cole’s eyes peeked up from under his large brimmed hat at Fane’s question. Fane felt dread seep into his entire blood covered body at the spirit’s piercing, but somber gaze. Emerald eyes slowly widened more as his heart hammered within the confines of his chest, the sound nearly blocking out Cole’s quiet response.

“You were saying it during the fight. It was quiet, but I could hear. Scared, terror wracking my body as the snow becomes brighter. A gentle chant that had housed a now broken promise. Each one holds my face as their own. Too many, too _bright_ . I have to kill them. I _have_ to.”, the spirit explained quietly, eyes full of the want to help.

Fane felt the air leave his lungs as Cole’s answer reached him. He had said..those words? Had he seen his face in the faces of those templars?! Why? Why had he said those words?! Why had he seen his face, corrupted and twisted in fear?! He couldn’t have said those words! Those words were dead! That chant was _dead_ ! Dead is _dead_ , no matter if they are men or words! But the state of those bodies.. Fane glanced back over his shoulder at the mutilated bodies of the Red Templars he had cut down himself. Gold flecks flash as his eyes flitted from each broken and sliced body. Fane focused on each feature of fear on those stiff faces. He focused on the peeling skin that he had forced back with his own sword. He focused on the blood, both dried and wet, as it seeped into pure white and rusted metal. 

“ _It looks like..when Father had me pinned to the ground.. The skin, the cuts, the_ **_blood_ ** _, the cold as it seeped into my bones!”,_ Fane thought as panic rose into his throat. 

The blood only seemed to get brighter from its contrast with the pure white snow the longer he stared at it. The faces of dead templars fuzzily morphed into his own pale freckled face, his vallaslin missing as it took on the shape of a more youthful appearance. The panic rose to a fever pitch in his throat and chest as it nearly suffocated him. His face..why did he see his face?! Fane gritted his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, the scene before him and the brightness becoming too much for his senses to handle. No, he didn’t do this. He _didn’t_ say that chant! Those faces were not _his_! His father had been the one to say that cursed mantra, and he was no longer here! 

“Y..you’re mistaken, Cole. I didn’t say those words.”, he denied Cole's observation as his voice shook with unrestrained terror, his eyes burning from the brightness as it seemed to pierce through his tightly shut eyelids.

Fane’s pointed ears twitched as he heard Varric take a step towards his frozen body. 

“Hold on, Tempest. Maybe you should let the kid help. You haven’t been your normal self ever since we got here. Maybe those words were-!”, Varric started to say in an attempt to talk Fane down.

Fane felt his anger rise to a fever pitch as his eyes flew open, turning around sharply to face his companions, his golden emerald eyes flashing dangerously as his face twisted into a mixed expression of insanity and fear. How dare they?! How _dare_ they try to pick apart his thoughts like some kind of puzzle game! They didn’t know a damn thing about what those words meant! What did they know about who he was?!

“STAY OUT OF MY BUSINESS! I SAID I DIDN’T SAY IT!”, he roared furiously, snow birds fluttering away into the sky from their perch in the trees.

Silence fell around them as Fane’s shout died down. Varric, Cole, and Solas looked at him in shock, not used to seeing him so unhinged. He could feel his entire body coiled like a spring, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger. All Fane was sure of was that it was too _bright_! Too much white! Too much red! The decaying smell of blood as it continued to seep into the snow burnt his nostrils!

“Bright, too _bright_. So much white. So much red. Decay stings the nose like a dying flower in the heat. Why does it hurt?! Why does it _burn_?! It’s supposed to be cool, soothing, _healing_! It’s supposed to be _different_! Instead, it is white hot pain just like the magic when he-!”, Cole murmured frantically, stopping half way as a small, but sharp dagger zoomed past his head, barely missing the spirit’s head as it lodged itself into a tree.

Fane’s emerald eyes were blown wide in terror as his hand hovered midair from the place the dagger had left his grasp. He could feel his body starting to unravel as it began to shake uncontrollably. He couldn’t hear anymore. He _couldn’t_. 

“Enough, Cole.. _Enough_.”, he commanded firmly, his voice shaking just as much as his body was as he lowered his head to look at the ground. 

Fane’s ears and body twitched as the crunching of snow beneath feet could be heard approaching him. He wanted to run. He wanted to get away. But his body wouldn’t move. Why wouldn’t it _move_ !? He was terrified! But he wanted to _die!_ He wanted the pain to end! He could see the blood red seeping from his body! He saw his face in each of those templars’! Father promised! He _promised_ ! He was coming! He was _coming_! He would..would..! A firm hand placing itself on his shoulder carefully had his entire body freezing, and his mind stilling its destructive pathway as it veered towards the realm of memory.

“I think it would be best if we left this place..”, Solas’s calm voice reached his ears, slowly bringing him back to reality.

Solas’s arm came into view as he offered Fane’s sword to him carefully, having retrieved it from its place on the ground. When had he dropped it? Fane’s mind felt numb, all his memories jumbled as he was having trouble determining the present from the past. He stared at the glistening, blood soaked metal blankly for several moments as he tried to ground himself to the present. Father wasn’t here. He was gone. But what about the promise? Father wouldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t, right? He..he changed. He _promised_! Why would he lie?! No, Father was going to end it. All the pain. All the torture. He promised him.. A shaky gloved hand grasped the bloody hilt as he finally reached out to reclaim his sword from Solas’s offering hand.

“You promised, Father.. You promised an end.. You promised I wouldn’t have to endure it anymore..”, he whispered out weakly, not yet grounded enough to understand what he was saying, and a feeling of longing wedging itself in his chest as he gazed at his sword.

He felt Solas’s hand, that was still resting on him, tightening around his shoulder in an understanding squeeze at his delirious rambling. He reached up slowly to grab the elven mage’s hand with his own, attempting to link himself to reality through Solas. Slowly, he felt his mind shifting back to reality. He slowly lifted his head, messy blood covered white hair moving from his eyes as he met Solas’s calm expression and faint smile.

“Your father is not here, da’len. You are safe.”, Solas murmured to him soothingly, giving his shoulder another squeeze.

Fane stared into Solas’s stormy eyes for several moments, his own eyes slowly starting to recover from their glassy state. He was safe? Yes, he was safe. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He wasn’t strapped to a table in an aravel. He was older. He was stronger. He didn’t have to endure that pain in its physical form any longer, right? Right. Father may still be alive somewhere, but he could defend himself now. He would not let Father take anymore from him. With a sluggish nod of his snowy head, Fane finally felt reality wrap around him once more.

“I am safe. For now.”, he affirmed Solas’s words to himself softly, letting his hand fall from the elven mage’s own on his shoulder.

Solas’s eyebrows furrowed slightly at the addition to his previous statement before simply nodding once as his hand fell from Fane’s broad shoulder. Fane knew that Solas had some inkling as to what had happened to him as a child since the mage had seen glimpses when they first met, but Fane had refused to expand on the topic. Still, he felt slightly comforted by even a small level of understanding. Solas had always been good at that for him. Pointed ears twitched softly as footsteps crunched towards them, the two elves turning their attention to Cole and Varric as they rejoined them. Fane saw Cole cradling the dagger he had thrown to his chest with a sorrowful expression, his blue eyes downcast with guilt. 

“I’m sorry.. I wanted to help.. You don’t hear it, but your pain is very loud..”, Cole whispered, his voice sounding broken.

Fane sighed heavily as he finally stood to his full height. He sheathed his sword with a slight tremor still in his hand, terror still coursing through his body, but also guilt. He hadn’t meant to frighten Cole with his panicked dagger throwing. He had just wanted the spirit to be silent. The words Cole had heard had sent him spiralling out of control, and he had just wanted it to stop. Of course, he’d gone about it the wrong way. Again. 

With a gentle hand, Fane reached forward to take the dagger from Cole gingerly. The kindly spirit let him have it without any resistance, his eyes still turned to the ground. Fane sighed once more. He needed to fix this. None of his companions had deserved his manic raving and his violent tendencies. He was supposed to be their leader, not their enemy. He took a deep breath as he tried to collect the correct words.

“No, _I’m_ sorry, Cole. I understand that what you hear is out of your control. I never intended to hurt or frighten you. You..um..frightened _me_ , is all.”, he managed to explain to the well meaning spirit, hesitating momentarily on expressing his fear, “And Varric, I’m sorry to you as well. I didn’t mean to yell like that. I lashed out at you, undeservingly. I was overwhelmed with everything. Frankly, I still am, but I’m starting to come to terms with it all. Still, I’m sorry to you both.”, he apologized as he turned to look down at the stocky dwarf, who was giving him an understanding smile.

Cole’s face broke out into a happy smile as he finally lifted his hanging head, the curtain of blonde hair falling from his face. The sight of such happiness on the usually somber spirit’s face, made Fane crack a faint smile of his own. A firm clap on his back from Varric had the smile disappearing instantly as it was replaced with a bewildered expression.

“All water under the bridge, Tempest. Everyone has a past they’re not proud of. Just know you can talk to any of us about it. Whenever you’re ready, that is.”, Varric told him with a wide smile.

Fane stared at Varric in shock. How could they all just accept what happened without question? He wasn’t used to such _support_ . Normally, he had to deal with consequences of his past on his own. His clan had always given up after the first time because they were more scared of what he’d do than what he was going through. After all, he was the one to invoke that type of mentality to keep people from learning about what happened. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He _wanted_ this kind of support, but he was too _proud_ to let anyone in. For the longest time, Fane had preferred that, but now.. Now, he was starting to understand the importance of such support. It was Cole’s nature to help people, but the look of utter happiness on the spirit’s face when he managed to make Fane smile was like the sun on a summer day. Varric claimed to be someone who tried not to care about problems that weren’t his, but time and time again he had dragged Fane into drinking with him or playing a round of Wicked Grace, cleverly coaxing him to loosen up. Not to mention, Varric had given him the nickname of Tempest as a way to make him feel less like an icon of divinity and more like a _person_. Fane had never been treated like a person by anyone but his sister. He was being included from the moment he met these people and he hadn’t even noticed. And while he was still learning new things about everyone in his inner circle, he saw now that each one had been attempting to give him support in their own way. 

Bull would always make him drink with his Chargers until he couldn’t see straight. Bull would tell him the next morning while he was suffering from a hangover, that he had been laughing and carrying on like he was a little boy. Fane obviously denied the accusations every time, but would always walk away with a sense of quiet satisfaction. 

Sera would drag him into pranks on the visiting nobles since she said he needed ‘to live a little’. He would always sneer at the elven girl’s hijinks, but the more and more pranks the two pulled, the more he would start to put in little ideas of his own which would make Sera cackle like a hyena. 

Dorian had somehow figured out that Fane had a secret love for poetry, and managed to sneakily gift a book of one from Tevinter to him. He was still trying to figure out how the man had even come across that type of knowledge, but he had taken the book with a sheepish word of thanks. The important part was that he had loved the gift even if he hadn’t let Dorian see at the time.

Leliana and Josephine would double team him when he would be wandering around Skyhold, smiling like cats. Usually, they would give Fane some type of sweet treat or a piece of clothing that was surprisingly practical. At one point, the two had found out his unhealthy obsession with chocolate cake and actually gifted him a whole one from Val Royeaux. He had eaten the whole thing that same night. 

Blackwall had found out that Fane enjoyed woodcrafting much like the gruff Warden did, and had offered to show him some tricks. Fane had felt embarrassed that his little hobby had somehow slipped out at one time or another, but had taken the Warden’s offer with contained enthusiasm. Now, the two would meet up once a week to work on carving various things for the children that had flocked to Skyhold. 

Vivienne had once invited him to share a cup of tea which had Fane nearly wanting to laugh with the absurdity of the idea of him having tea. Him? A bristly, rude Dalish elf having tea? He had been more likely to smash the tea set before being able to actually drink any of it! But the Enchantress had simply told him it would help clear his thoughts. Fane had obviously doubted Vivienne’s plain words. As if a thing such as simple tea could have relaxed him. A pipe dream at the time. Surprisingly to him however, Vivienne had been right. That night, Fane had slept like the dead without a single nightmare and was actually late to the war council the next morning. He remembered the startled faces of Cullen and Josephine, and Leliana’s knowing smirk as he’d burst through the doors half asleep and disoriented with actually having slept. Later, he found out from Vivienne that it was just a simple brew of lavender and chamomile which were herbs that reduced stress and promoted sleep. With the newfound knowledge, he had practically begged for several bags of the herbs which Vivienne had given him easily with a motherly smile, something that was usually uncharacteristic for the ever elegant mage. The tea didn’t work every night, but just smelling the calming scent helped him get a few hours of peaceful sleep before a nightmare would crop up. 

While Cassandra and he still didn’t see eye to eye on many things, the Seeker was surprisingly more open to him since he became Inquisitor. She would offer him counsel on many matters concerning Inquisition business when the pressure of the task seemed to become too much for Fane to handle. He was always left a bit startled at the taciturn woman’s perceptiveness. At times, the Seeker would do a few of his duties for him, even though he would get furious later for her meddling. In actuality, Fane was grateful for her meddling as much as it made him feel incompetent at times, but he’d probably never admit it to the woman herself. He may have fought at the idea of becoming Inquisitor when he had stood before the crowd who saw him as a literal god, but he had never been one to half ass things even if he didn’t agree with how they came about. Fane knew the risks. He knew the threats. He had simply promised to do what he could as he _was_ , not how he was _seen_. And Cassandra, who had practically forced the position onto him, had seemed to feel a bit of guilt towards throwing leadership at his feet. Hence why the Seeker had tried to help mitigate his tasks which grew with each passing day. Now that Fane could see the intentions behind the woman’s actions, he felt a bit guilty for feeling agitated with her. He’ll have to thank her at some point. 

Now, Cullen was a bit of a mixed bag for him. The Commander, from the very beginning, had offered him a listening ear, knowing the burden that was weighed on the elf’s shoulders. Even when he was still wary of humans, he would still seek Cullen out to simply..talk. Talk about work for the most part, but when the Inquisition had fled from Haven to Skyhold, their discussions became more personal. Fane found himself speaking to Cullen about his sister, which was something he practically never did despite everyone knowing he had one. Perhaps, because Cullen himself had siblings and could relate with Fane’s sense of protectiveness, was why he felt comfortable sharing stories and information about his only kin to the warm Commander. And Cullen would always listen and always offer his own input so Fane didn’t feel as if he was the only one interested in their conversations. The Commander would let him in on memories of his youth. He would tell Fane about Ferelden, about the village he had grown up in, and his siblings. Again, it had made Fane feel like a _person._ He felt needed. He felt _wanted_ when these conversations took place. 

Then, there were more subdued times where the two would simply sit together in Cullen’s office in silence. Fane would sit on the edge of his Commander’s desk as he would stare out at the snowy mountains that surrounded them through the small windows, watching the snowscape ebb and flow with the region’s harsh winds. While Cullen, who was never bothered by his odd habit of placing himself in inconvenient places, would carefully shift papers around his body to read through them, only occasionally having to bother him so he could get his opinion on a matter. Most of the time, these moments of silence would happen if something had rattled Fane into a state of silent rage or if Cullen was going through a rough bout of withdrawal. Cullen would let him keep his perch on his desk, silently and patiently waiting to see if Fane wanted to share his thoughts. In turn, he would help his Commander get through a pain that Fane knew all too well especially when it wracked one’s entire body. Even more, the two had become even closer since he heard about what truly had happened to Cullen when he was in the Circle Tower in Ferelden during the Blight. The man had been tortured much like he had, and that brought Fane a deep sense of longing when he was with Cullen. He wanted to tell Cullen about his past. He wanted to be as open as the Commander had been with him. He wanted to _connect_ with the oddly bashful human. Maybe he should think about telling Cullen about his past, if only a tiny bit. Well..he’ll have to think about it for a long while, but some day..some day he’ll tell the Commander everything. _Everything._ Every gory detail and insane episode of fear and hysteria. If anyone deserved to know, it would be Cullen. Not just because Fane could share a connection through trauma, but because he truly felt safe with Cullen, even before knowing what the former templar had been put through. 

Finally, Solas.. 

Fane had broken from his ruminations for a moment to look at the elven mage who was now inspecting the mutilated bodies of the once corrupted templars, his face set into a contemplative frown. Emerald eyes slowly rolled downwards as he entered his thoughts once more. Solas was different in a lot of ways for him. Firstly, the elder elf had been the very first person to even have an inkling as to what it was that he had gone through. He remembered, as the first rift he sealed had slammed shut, the look of restrained horror on Solas’s face as he searched his expression for answers to a question Fane hadn’t understood yet. It hadn’t been until after he had finished vomiting his guts out onto the ground that Solas had spoken to him. Fane remembered the red hot anger towards the man because he had been the one to actively force the unknown magic on Fane’s hand to react to the gaping rift, but that rage had been replaced with pure terror when Solas had questioned him relentlessly about his involuntary reaction to the magic being forcibly pushed through his body. 

“ _It is as if your body is familiar with the process.”,_ he remembered Solas’s keen observation. 

Those words had made Fane realize that Solas had seen what he had seen during the sealing of the rift. The dark memories that surfaced from the intensity of magic playing with his psyche had been broadcasted to Solas for a moment, and that had terrified Fane more than his Father ever did. And for months, Fane had tried to avoid the Fadewalker like the plague until he couldn’t any longer. He had tried to convince himself, unsuccessfully, that he hated Solas. When in actuality, he had felt a sense of childish need. A need to be accepted. A need to be _heard._ And so, Fane had slowly tried to reach out to the elven mage in small ways without delving too deeply into his own affairs. Much to his surprise, Solas had responded with an uncharacteristic type of relief at his sudden interest. He wondered if Solas had been worried? Worried that he truly did hate him? Perhaps he should ask the mage some time. However, since that moment of actively reaching out to the elven mage, the two elves seemed to settle into a steady rhythm of respect and occasional bickering. However, one thing was apparent to Fane, he saw Solas as more than an ally, more than a friend. He saw Solas as _family._ Not just because the mage was an elf like he was, but because Solas treated him much like a father would his son. He would scold Fane when he was being unreasonable or close minded to the perspectives of others. He would offer council when he saw Fane was near the edge of splintering like thin ice. He would guide him through more difficult topics, whether it be socialization or why another thought a certain way, with his own experiences as the tool for teaching. Most of all, Solas allowed him to be _weak_ without asking for anything in return or looking down on him for his moments of vulnerability. In fact, the elf seemed to find a bit of joy in seeing Fane let his emotions show even if it was his destructive anger. That type of reaction had baffled Fane for weeks until he had sheepishly asked the elven man why he seemed to revel in his emotions. Again, the response had not been something Fane was accustomed to.

“ _You are not made of stone, lethallin. You are not immutable. You are always changing. Always growing. You show me a whisper of color that I have not witnessed for a very long time. I suppose it makes me proud. Proud to see you walk with your head held high instead of hidden from those who wish to crush you. I hope it is something I will continue to see for a long time to come.”,_ he recalled Solas’s genuine words with a feeling of restrained happiness.

A small smile formed on Fane’s lips at the memory as he lifted his gaze back up, this time looking into the sky with a sense of calm that hadn’t been present since walking into this frozen wasteland. The sky was crystal clear with nary a cloud to stain its cerulean color. With a deep sigh, he let his golden emerald eyes fall shut. Instead of visions of white and crimson, Fane saw nothing but deep blue and clearness. 

“ _And I wish to keep growing for you, Solas. For everyone that I now consider my family. I will continue to break the chains that bind me. One shackle at a time. So, please, keep watching.”,_ Fane thought to himself.

The golden flecks in his emerald eyes glinted softly as Fane slowly cracked them open once more. And what he saw within the sky had him feeling as if he was flying. Pale blue morphed to familiar clarity as he felt the edges of his mind wrap around prisms of color. With a gentle hum, new words flowed through the halls of his mind to reflect the scene before him. 

Pure white cold. _Snow_.

A blue sea shall flow. _The sky._

With freedom you shall fight. _Unchained._

Clarity of thought within a boundless sky as your soul takes flight. _Freedom._

Prisms of color stretch before you to welcome you home in rays of warming light. _Familiarity._

Fane had let a rare content smile widen across his face as a new poem, perfectly his, sang within his mind like rain upon fresh metal. 

This was happiness.

This was home.

This was where he belonged. No deluded man of his past or a world ending event would ever make that untrue. 

And the snow? Well, he supposed, it was truly beautiful after all.


	3. A New Promise, A Found Family

With one last heavy sigh, Fane turned to his companions, Varric gave him a thumbs up as he nudged Cole to do the same, which the spirit did with a perplexed expression.

“All clear, Tempest!”, Varric confirmed to him that no more Red Templars were around their immediate area. 

Cole was looking at his raised thumb as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“If I turn my hand, it looks like a face.”, Cole said simply, turning his hand to show them.

Varric sighed with a smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose in minor exasperation towards the Spirit of Compassion before tilting his own head to see what Cole was seeing.

“Huh. You know what? It kinda does, kid.”, Varric said around a humored chuckle.

Solas tilted his head in turn before making an expression that said he surprisingly agreed.

“Interesting. Fine observation, Cole.”, Solas told the spirit with a fond chuckle.

An unfamiliar feeling rose up in him at the sight. Were the three of them seriously..? Slowly, his face scrunched up tightly as pressure built behind it, a quick snort escaping his usually tip lips. The three of them looked at him, turning their attention away from the revelation of Cole’s hand puppet, Varric and Solas wearing concerned frowns on their faces, but Cole was smiling ear to ear at him.

“Bubbling, giddy, flighty. A pressure of a balloon that’s about to pop. It is warm, comforting,  _ home _ . Laughter as her face smiled from a shadow that danced on the wall.”, he heard Cole say with a soft laugh in his voice.

Varric and Solas both looked to the spirit in mild confusion. This time, he didn’t feel fear at the spirit’s words. Instead, Fane felt weightless and free. Free to remember the days when he and his sister had been but mere children, acting out stories and dreams with just the shadow of their hands. He remembered how Mhairi’s big blue eyes would swim with joy every time he had shown her a new shape.

“ _ What’s that one? And how do you do it?! Show me, show me!”,  _ he could hear his sister’s high voice in his ear as he recalled the memory.

“ _ It’s a bird, My. And as to how I do it? Well, it’s a secret.” _ , he had told her with a large boyish grin.

Fane remembered Mhairi had pouted for  _ days _ after teasingly refusing her request. And of course, he eventually gave in when he couldn’t take the disheartened look on his sister’s face any longer. Honestly, the look of pure joy on his sister’s face when he agreed had been better than any teasing he could have mustered back then. It always was. 

A tight feeling constricted his chest as his scrunched face twisted even more. He barely heard Varric’s surprisingly light footsteps as they came closer to him. Fane managed to crack a single emerald eye open to acknowledge the dwarf, waving him off without any irritation for once. Varric’s thick eyebrows only furrowed more at his odd behavior.

“Man, you are acting strange today, Tempest. One minute, I think you’re going insane, and then the next you look as if you’re going to spill your guts out everywhere! And let me tell you, you puking is not a pretty sight!”, Varric said to him, trying to piece together what was going on with him by using jokes.

Fane’s pointed ears perked up at the sound of Solas’s voice as the elven mage came over to them with a scolding look towards the smiling dwarf.

“You do know there are better ways to show concern, Varric? Using the words ‘insane’ and ‘puke’ do not really show that.”, the mage said with a raised eyebrow as he looked down at the dwarf from over his nose, flitting his eyes to Fane’s face with concern.

Varric spluttered indignantly as he flailed at Fane, who still had his face scrunched up tightly.

“But look at the man! He looks like he’s about to toss his cookies everywhere!”, Varric claimed loudly to Solas.

“ _ Varric. _ ”, Solas snapped sternly, but the dwarf was unphased.

“Oh, no, Chuckles, that doesn’t work on me!”, Varric said with a cheeky smirk.

The two opposites continued to bicker back and forth as Fane doubled over slightly as the pressure in his chest and face became too much. He hadn’t felt this feeling in ages! It felt as if he was about to explode, and it was wonderful! His companions were utter fools, but why did that make him so..so  _ happy?  _ Fane was so busy trying to stave off oncoming laughter that he missed how Cole, who was watching them from afar, was smiling even more than was usual for the soft spoken spirit. 

“He’s happy.”, Cole stated softly, his voice taking on a bit of awe at the idea.

Varric and Solas stopped their bickering for the moment as they turned to look at Cole in mild confusion. 

“Who’s happy, kid?”, Varric questioned with a raised eyebrow, deftly knocking Solas in the back of the knee with a poker face, supposedly as revenge towards something Fane had evidently missed in his fight with laughter.

Fane snorted loudly as he watched Solas’s knees nearly buckle from the kick, having to brace himself on his staff so as not to completely fall face first into the snow. He completely cracked when he saw the elven mage’s usually calm facade crumble into an expression of mild murderous intent as he grabbed Varric by the back of his leather coat to level the dwarf with a dark glare. Varric had simply put his hands up with an innocent smile. That was it. That was the end for him.

“Pfft..snrrt..hahaha!”, he finally bursted out laughing, face aching from unused muscles being strained.

Fane doubled over even more as laughter shook his entire body, plopping down onto his knees as the intensity of the foreign feeling overtook him. He couldn’t even remember the last time such a feeling of humor had taken him! It had been the absurdity of the men before him that started it, and the final nail in the coffin had been the elder elf’s expression! He’d never seen Solas look as if he had wanted to incinerate someone! And Varric had acted as if it was nothing at all! It was brilliant! 

His laughter had become so loud that he almost missed Varric’s next words, the dwarf’s jaw hanging wide open in amazement.

“Holy shit..”, Varric cursed with wonder, hitting at Solas’s arm as if the elf wasn’t aware of what was going on.

Fane continued to laugh happily, tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he willed himself to keep them open. His sparkling emerald eyes met with a face of fond affection as Solas watched Fane as the young elf let himself laugh, letting go of Varric unceremoniously to let the dwarf fall on his ass. He heard Varric curse loudly as he landed, a glare finally forming on his face at the elf’s dirty handed trick. He felt a bit embarrassed from the look on Solas’s face, but honestly, he could care less at that moment. He was happy. He was  _ happy _ !

“ _ He’s _ happy.”, Cole finally answered Varric’s earlier question as he helped the dwarf to stand.

Varric grumbled under his breath as he let the spirit help him up, dusting himself off roughly.

“Thanks, kid. Glad you cleared that up.”, Varric said, still glaring at Solas, who was still watching him with a soft smile before glancing down at the dwarf with a glint of satisfaction in his stormy eyes. 

Fane’s laughter picked up once again at the show his companions were putting on for him, literally folding off like a turtle as he clutched at his stomach. 

“Hahahah! S..Stop..! Oh, Creators! Y..You’re all..hahah..fools!”, he choked out between fits of laughter, wiping at his eyes as more tears started to escape.

He heard Varric’s huff of amusement before heard Solas kneel down in front of him, a chuckle in his own voice.

“You are full of surprises, Inquisitor.”, Solas told him fondly.

Fane lifted his head as his laughter began to die down, coughing from the rawness it had created in his throat. A joyful smile etched itself on his face as he met Solas’s own calm one.

“Heh, so I’ve been told. Sorry, that was just..ridiculous. Especially your face! I..I..pfft..! I’ve never seen you so annoyed!”, he said as laughter began to fill his chest again, leaving him feeling warm and free.

He heard Varric bark out a laugh at that observation, even Cole had giggled a bit at it, but both covered it as soon as Solas shot them an unamused glare before looking at Fane sheepishly.

“Well, I am glad my discomfort can invoke such happiness in you,  _ da’len _ .”, Solas said flatly, his face twisting into a somewhat petulant frown.

Fane’s face tightened once more as he shakily pointed at the elf’s face, indicating his point of why he was laughing so hard. Solas gave him a look as if to say ‘don’t do this’. However, it only provoked him to want to laugh even more. Soon, Fane couldn’t fight the good fight any longer as he started to snort.

“S..See?! L..Like that! Y..you l..look pfft..like a scolded child! Hahaha!”, he said as he dissolved into raucous laughter once more. 

He watched as Solas sighed heavily, gracefully rising from his spot in front of the giggling elf. Fane’s stomach was aching with how much he was laughing as he tried to push himself up off the ground. He knew Solas was probably annoyed at him, but only because his laughter was at the elder elf’s discomfort. He felt Solas’s hand help him up as he grasped him by the elbow, his face still twisted in minor annoyance, but Fane could see a bit of restrained humor in the elf’s blue eyes. Fane finally started to compose himself once more, clearing his throat as Varric and Cole moved closer to the two, both smiling widely at him. Fane scratched at his cheek shyly at the happiness in their eyes. He hadn’t meant to lose control like that, but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy the feeling while it had lasted. The small smile on his lips proved that.

“Ahem..right. Pfft..wait, wait.. Hooo, okay. I’m good.”, he said after taking a deep breath, schooling his features into their usual stoicism once more, but his eyes still sparkled with gold and moss.

Varric laughed at that, startling Fane slightly and almost nearly sending him into a fit of giggles once more. Creators, he never realized how hard it was to stop laughing once you started. It was so strange to him to feel this way. He supposed that’s what happened when your emotions are usually so muted that they were barely perceptible.

“Damn, Tempest! I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ seen you laugh like that! Usually it’s just those weird huffs of air that you do through your nose! And sometimes you manage a chuckle when Curly loses at Wicked Grace, but this is refreshing, to say the least!”, Varric told him with another laugh.

Fane rolled his emerald eyes with a mild scowl, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Was he truly that muted? Well, actually, yes. Ugh, that was annoying. Stupid dwarf. Why did the ass always have to be so..so keen? 

“I’m not completely dead inside, Varric. I have good memories, as well as bad. The good I just..keep close. I keep them protected.”, he stated softly, feeling a bit more open to sharing since his laughter had left him feeling unburdened for once.

Varric’s eyebrows rose, probably from his willingness to share something about himself for once. Fane scoffed at the expression before looking around at the white snow, pointedly keeping his gaze away from the bodies that were still strewn on the ground. Yes, he had good memories. Fond memories. Gentle memories. Those memories were ones that he cherished, that he kept close so that they would never be taken away. But, there was no harm in sharing one, right? Just one.

“Here, how about I tell you about something my sister and I once did when we were little? Preferably while we keep moving. The stench is starting to get to me.”, he grumbled as his eyes quickly glanced at the mutilated bodies that were beginning to decay from the corruption inside of them.

Varric blinked before nodding with a smile, motioning for Fane to lead the way.

“After you, your Inquisitorialness!”, the dwarf exclaimed with an elegant bow.

A wave of agitation engulfed him at Varric’s twist on his title and his actions. Fane’s face set into a blank slate as anger bubbled under his skin. Leave it to Varric’s inclination towards bullshit to ruin his mood. Solas let out a chuckle as he silently moved to the side, giving Fane and Varric a wide berth. Cole’s once happy face morphed into disheartened confusion as he was pulled along with Solas, tilting his head gently.

“He’s not happy anymore.”, he heard Cole say quietly, confusion lacing his voice.

His ears twitched as he heard Solas chuckle once more, catching the movement of arms as they went behind the mage’s back. Fane watched as Varric’s head glanced up at him slightly to see why he had gone quiet before he found himself face first in the frozen snow. Fane stared straight ahead as he roughly ground the dwarf’s face into the soft snow before letting him go and turning on his heel to stomp in the direction of the village. Yeah, forget sharing. 

“Thanks, Varric. I’m feeling like myself again.”, he snarled out with a satisfied expression.

Solas simply stepped over Varric’s prone body, calmly sending a minor healing spell to help with the dwarf’s very likely headache before following after Fane. Cole stood in place, looking down at Varric’s body as the dwarf let out a pained groan. He could hear the spirit worriedly shifting over Varric’s body. Fane heaved a heavy sigh before glancing over his shoulder at Cole, a faint smile forming on his face.

“Cole, I can show you the hand patterns for the bird if you want.”, he said fondly, knowing the spirit had probably clued in on where his feelings from before had come from.

Cole visibly perked up at the suggestion as he ran over to Fane, smiling widely once more.

“Yes.”, the spirit said simply, nodding his large brimmed hat wearing head.

He nodded at the spirit once before motioning for his two companions to follow, calling over his shoulder to Varric as the dwarf began to push himself up. A smirk forming on his face as he saw snow caking into the confines of the rogue’s clothing. Serves him right.

“Hurry it up, Varric or we’re leaving you here!”, he bellowed before continuing his trek towards the village.

Fane’s ears twitched as he heard Varric grumble out curses, both directed at Fane and the snow that was quickly melting into his armor. His smirk grew at that as he lifted his head up high.

Yes, all his people were fools. But they were  _ his _ fools. No matter how much they would either make him laugh or annoyed. They were his. Just like his memories of blissful summer nights amidst a fire as playful shadows danced on walls. He was the hand that guided their shadows, for good or ill, but they would all be safe. They would be cherished. They would  _ live _ . His emerald eyes hardened into jade colored glass as Varric finally caught up to them, his resolve coursing through his body like a fever.

“ _ I will protect them. I will guide them. If I need to fall so that they may live, then so be it. I would walk into death gladly. I will have an end some day, but it will be by my choice, my duty. Not because I can  _ **_no longer_ ** _ endure. No, it will be when I feel I am  _ **_finished_ ** _ , when I feel I have endured  _ **_enough_ ** _. And that, will never be. Not so long as my family draws breath.”,  _ Fane thought to himself as his heavy boots crunched through wet, heavenly white snow, bloody footprints etching his memory and his promise into the earth.


End file.
